by Ella Miles
Both men start to turn to my father to ask what to do, but my unyielding glare along with the low rumble of my throat make them rethink their plans. They stand immediately, and head for the door the women exited through.
My father smirks as they leave.
“Good to know you are finally learning something from your old man,” he says.
I ignore him as I take a seat in the chair his number two emptied. I help myself to the glass of scotch Baldwin left as he scurried out like a worried rat.
“You summoned me.” I sip the scotch, letting the warm liquid seep through me, making my already hot skin race with the fire of the liquid. I’m always hot, ready to attack—a blaze of sweltering fire that can’t be stopped.
“I did, and you came, like a good little son.”
It’s an insult. All of his words toward me are. He says them to get a reaction out of me, but I’ve long learned to pretend his insults and threats don’t exist.
“Did you have a point in bringing me here? Because I have a full schedule for today, including ensuring you make millions and the men are in line.”
“Impatient fuck as always.” He shakes his head. “I would have thought any son of mine would have learned to respect his elder, his leader.”
My eyes darken as my lids fall, only allowing the tiniest slit of my eye to remain open. I know how to close off from this man. I know how to keep my composure. I’m seventeen. Practically an adult. No longer a boy. But around this man, who calls himself my father, I struggle to be anything but a ten-year-old boy who disobeyed. I won’t be that scared little boy anymore. Not around him.
Instead, I sip on my drink like I want to be here, and I wait. I have more patience than my father ever will. I could sit here all day and all night without flinching. I know how to go deep within myself and ignore everything else. Food, drink, feelings, everything. I know how to shut out the world. If he wants me to be patient, I will be. And he’ll lose.
He sighs. “I have a target for you.”
I raise an eyebrow but don’t speak. I know he has more to say.
I’ve killed men before, nine to be exact, so this isn’t an unusual request. What is strange is that he brought me here, to the place he holds holy to give his order, instead of sending one of his men. So what’s different about this one?
“How?” I know it’s the right question. Does he want me to make this man suffer or kill him quickly? What kind of man am I dealing with? Am I taking out a monster or enemy? Dispatching the leader of a gang or disposing of one of our own who dared not to follow orders?
My father’s body stills as he considers his next words.
“You decide.”
My eyes widen, and I almost choke on my scotch. I never get to make a decision. I may rule a group of men who will follow every order I give, but it’s not the same as having free will to decide when and who we strike. I’m only following my father’s orders when I give my own.
His mouth curls down at my reaction. Disappointment, I’ve seen it before.
I stiffen again into stone, ensuring I won’t show a moment of weakness again.
“Who’s the target?”
My father remains silent as he sips his drink. His pupils widen as he imagines the target in his head. Whatever this man did to deserve my father’s wrath is bad. And now I decipher his meaning. I know what the real test is, why my father won’t tell me how to dispose of him. Because once I know what this man did, it’s up to me to prove my worth to my father, by correctly dispatching of him. By giving him the correct punishment for his crimes, and seeing that justice, at least in the eyes of my father, is done.
“What did he do?”
He turns toward me, his lips finally curling into the evil grin I’m used to seeing.
“Nothing.”
Fuck.
I’ve killed in self-defense before. Injured many men, fighting battles to defend my family’s power.
I’ve killed men who hurt my family or this club. Killed those who were planning to take us down. But I’ve never killed someone who was innocent.
It doesn’t mean my father is telling me the truth either. This man could be innocent or my father’s greatest foe. It makes no difference. I’ll kill him all the same.
Because that’s what I am—a killing machine. My father trained me my entire life to be an assassin so I could prove my worth to him. My first kill was when I was thirteen, and it has been my life ever since.
My father sees the change in my body despite the wall I put up. He knows I’ll follow his every command without hesitation.
“Good.” He nods at me.
My stomach drops feeling like my transformation into the devil is complete. Except the devil is still sitting three feet away from me. How can I be the devil when he’s still alive?
“One more thing. You do this kill, the right way, then you will get power.”
If it’s possible my body stills even more. Except for my bloody heart. It thumps loudly in my chest. This is what I’ve been waiting for, for seventeen years—this chance.
“Kill, and you will no longer take orders from anyone. Kill, and your debt will be paid. Kill, and you’ll owe me nothing. Kill, and you’ll be free.”
Free.
It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Freedom.
My father is offering me what I’ve sought all these years.
But I doubt doing this will indeed set me free. If anything it will bring me deeper into the darkness with him. And he knows that.
It doesn’t matter. This is what my whole life has been leading me toward—this final kill.
Who am I kidding? This won’t be my final kill, but maybe it will be the last one I do for my father.
I growl. My father doesn’t tell the truth often, at least not to his men. He doesn’t have to explain himself to anyone, but he’s never lied to me. So I have no reason to believe he is lying now. If I do this, then I’ll be free. At least of him, but never this club. Never this life.
I nod, agreeing to his terms, cementing my place in hell.
He pulls out a pen from his pocket and takes the napkin on the table where his drink sat. He scribbles on it, then hands it to me.
I unfold the napkin and stare at the name before downing the rest of my scotch.
Kai Miller, you’re a dead man.
4
Kai
I feel him before I see him.
I shouldn’t know how he feels when he’s around me. I’ve only met him once. I’ve barely had time to study the curves of his face. Barely had time to notice the richness of his voice. The small wave of his hair. The light scruff on his face. The way he walks, tall and strong. I shouldn’t have noticed any of it, but I did. And now I could sense Enzo out of a crowd of a million. I would zero in on him immediately.
I sense him approaching easily; he sucks all the oxygen out of any room he is in, casting a dark shadow as he moves like a predator. Even though I’m standing on the front deck of a large yacht and there is air all around me, I can’t breathe.
Enzo’s steps are quiet, I shouldn’t be able to hear his feet hitting the dock, but I do. He moves silently, a skill I’m sure he uses to his advantage to do whatever nefarious things he spends his days doing.
I try to ignore him and continue mopping the wooden floor of the yacht, but it’s hard for me to pretend I don’t notice him.
His feet still on the pier next to the yacht and my arms slow their movement as I stare down at his dark black boots.
Boots? Why the hell is he wearing boots?
It’s summertime in Miami. Most people here wear flip-flops, boat shoes, or go barefoot. The only people who wear boots around here are those that work. Those that clean or catch fish for money to bring back to their families. People like my father or me. Not the kind that was handed daddy’s money. Enzo doesn’t understand anything about hard work. He’s a spoiled rich kid.
I can’t help but curl an eyebrow up as my eyes travel further up his body. Gone is the dark
pants and buttoned-down shirt, replaced with jeans and a tight black shirt. He looks like he could disappear into the night, even though it’s the middle of the afternoon.
Enzo folds his arms across his chest, and he looks at me sternly. A look I’ve seen plenty of times from my father when he’s about to give me a whooping. The look is meant to intimidate me into doing whatever he wants, but it takes a lot more than a look to cause me to worry.
I suck in a breath and then get back to work. I’ve almost finished cleaning the yacht. It wasn’t as disgusting as the one I did last week. That one had puke, piss, and blood all over it. I’m hoping the second one I’m supposed to clean is as easy as this one.
“Thief,” Enzo says.
Shit.
But of course Enzo noticed I stole his watch. He realized immediately that I took his wallet, even though that was the plan all along. To get him to catch me stealing his wallet, so it would be easier to steal his watch. I just didn’t think he would care enough about his watch to track me down.
There is no point denying what I did. I can’t pretend he lost his watch or he was the victim of a desperate pick-pocketer. We both know what I did.
I stand up straighter and stop mopping. I wipe the sweat from my brow. He’s changed in the hours since I saw him, but other than tying a bandana around my hair to keep it off my face, I haven’t. I look the same, except sweat beads down my skin and more dirt clings to my flesh than before.
I nod. “I stole your watch.”
His eyes lighten. “You did.”
Shit, he’s not going to make this easy. But I’m not going to collapse and beg for forgiveness on my knees. I did what I had to, to survive.
“I’m sorry I stole your watch.”
He jumps onto the yacht despite the high gap between the deck and the pier. It’s a large jump most people wouldn’t dare take, but he does it with ease, like he’s made the leap thousands of times and never once thought of plummeting into the water if he were to miscalculate his movement.
I take a step back before I can help myself.
He grins like I just showed a weakness.
“Are you now? Because you don’t look sorry to me.”
“I’m sorry, I would have never stolen it if I had a choice.”
He laughs. “You had a choice. You chose to steal from me. Do you have any idea what I do to thieves?”
I stare down at his clenched fists. “I’m sure I have an idea.”
He cocks his head as he takes another step closer. This time, I don’t step back. I let him inch closer, but I squeeze the mop handle harder. I will use it as a weapon if I have to.
“But it doesn’t scare you. I don’t scare you?”
“No.”
He shakes his head. “Stupid girl.”
I narrow my eyes into deep slits. “I’m not stupid.”
He sighs. “Then why did you steal from me? There were countless other men in the bar you could have stolen from.”
I feel the color returning to my face. This question is easy. “Because you needed the watch the least. You have more money than anyone in that bar—more money than most people in this city. You could call someone and have the watch replaced in five minutes, and you wouldn’t even notice the downward tick in your bank account. You were the least likely to be hurt by my actions.”
My words surprise him. It’s clear in the way his body hardens, his eyebrow inches up, and his jaw twitches.
“Unless…” I start. “Unless, the watch was a family heirloom or gift. Did your father or girlfriend give you the watch? Is it irreplaceable?”
I don’t know why I ask. I wouldn’t rat out Jim. I can’t track down the watch and get it back for him, but at least I will know how much I truly have to repay Enzo.
He laughs. Long, hard, and his voice sounds like he’s gone maniacal. I don’t know what’s so funny, but I watch him slowly stop.
“I don’t do the girlfriend thing.”
Those words make me sad, because the tiniest part of me wanted him to take a chance and make me his girlfriend. But that’s stupid because I don’t do the boyfriend thing either. I don’t have time for it, and I won’t let some man take care of me.
“And my father has never given me a damn thing.”
His eyes are serious as he says them and I see a pit of his pain. I see how broken he is in his dark orbs where he tries to hide his shattered pieces from the world. But he can’t hide it from me, I see it as clearly as I see the sun shining in the sky.
He shakes his head again. “Why did you steal it? Planning on buying more burgers and beer with it?”
My lips curl up a little at his teasing. “It was for my father.”
“Aww, I see. You’re a daddy’s girl. So tell me, daddy’s girl, how does dear old daddy treat his daughter? Is he a drug addict? Alcoholic? Does he gamble away the money he’s supposed to use to pay rent and feed you?”
“Stop.”
His lips do curl up, happy he finally hit a nerve in me.
“I used the money to repay a debt my father owes, but my father isn’t a bad man. He works hard and does his best to take care of me. He’s not a drug addict, alcoholic, or gambler. He’s just my dad.”
His entire body exhales as if he disagrees with me, but knows there is no point in arguing with me.
I dig into my pocket and find the two hundred dollars extra I received from selling the watch. I hold it out to him.
He stares at the money like it’s a snake about to bite him.
“What’s that?”
“This is me repaying you for the watch.”
“If all you got was two hundred dollars for the watch, then you made a bad deal. That watch cost me twelve grand.”
I shrug. I should have gotten more than the seven and a half I got. I didn’t make the best deal, but I was desperate. Just like I was when I stole the watch in the first place.
“I know. I got more than that, but that’s all I have left after I paid off the debt.” I square my shoulders to him and hold out my hand. “I will repay you. All of it, plus interest. No matter what it takes or how long. You have my word.”
He takes my hand in a dominating grip. “I don’t need the money, daddy’s girl.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Would you prefer I call you, stupid girl?”
“No, I’d prefer you call me by my name.”
“Jocelyn,” the way he says the name sends shivers down my spine. “But that’s not really your name is it?”
I freeze. How did he realize I’d given him a fake name?
“You don’t go by Jocelyn. You go by Josie, or Jos, or Lynn, but never Jocelyn.”
I don’t move. He thinks he’s so smart, but he can’t even figure out a sixteen-year-old girl’s real name.
Enzo studies me, his thick eyelashes shading his eyes as he does. “I don’t need the money Jocelyn, and as for the watch, I have dozens more at home.”
I still. “Then what do you want?”
“I’m looking for someone. I was told he works down here by the docks, and seeing as you do too, you might be able to help me find him while being more inconspicuous. Help me find him tonight. And I’ll forgive your debt.”
It’s a good deal. It will take me most of my life at my current rate to pay back the debt I owe him. “What do you want with this man?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, but nothing he does is ever casual. Every movement is planned out. His actions are orchestrated to make me as uncomfortable as possible. Make me hate him, while wanting to plant my lips on his at the same time.
“Does it matter?”
No, it doesn’t. I’m heartless, but he doesn’t need to know that. I don’t care what happens to this man. I don’t care if he beats him, extracts a debt from him, or kills him. It won’t be on my conscience.
I squeeze his hand and shake. “Deal.”
He smirks.
“You can tell me what you know about this man while I finish mopping. I have one mor
e yacht to clean tonight.”
“You aren’t cleaning another yacht tonight until you help me.”
I roll my eyes at his bossiness. “I might, if I think this man will be on it. The other yacht is on the other side of the harbor. If I think we will have better luck finding him there, then it will be more inconspicuous to be cleaning then going in guns blazing like I’m sure you plan on doing.”
“You think I’ll just take out my gun and starting shooting to get people to talk?”
“I don’t think, I know.” I eye the back of his shirt where I know a gun is hidden. I also do not doubt he has more weapons on him. He has a knife stashed in his boot or another gun hidden in his pant’s leg.
“What world were you brought up in, Jocelyn, where you can tell if a man is carrying a gun or not?”
“The kind where I have to know if a man is carrying a gun or not for my own survival.”
A calmness passes between us. An understanding of each other. He may be rich, and I may be poor, but we aren’t so different, the two of us. We are more alike than we are different.
I continue mopping while Enzo scrutinizes me, studying me like I’m an alien from another planet he’s just now recognizing as one of his own. When I finish, I dump the water overboard and stow the mop and bucket in the cleaning closet. Enzo follows as we both hop off the expensive yacht and onto the pier.
I can feel him smiling at how effortlessly I made the same jump he did, instead of using the ramp.
“So, who are we looking for?” I ask.
Enzo pulls out a napkin and hands it to me.
I take it hesitantly. I feel a sense of doom come over me, and I swear a dark cloud descends overhead just to cover the spot where I stand.
I unfold the napkin and read the name written on it. My name. Kai Miller.
Shit. Fuck. Shit.
I should have pressed harder about what Enzo wanted with the man he thinks he’s hunting for. I try not to react at the name, but I feel Enzo studying my reaction. Is he testing me? Did he know this was me all along? What does he want with me anyway, other than to give him back the watch?